


Sweet Buttercup, Delicate Flower

by Rose_SK



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Assassin Geralt, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt No Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, MI6 Agents, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sociopathic Geralt, Spy Jaskier | Dandelion, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill.OR the Assassin AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 129





	Sweet Buttercup, Delicate Flower

**Author's Note:**

> For the whumptober prompt no. 3: My Way or The Highway (prompts: held at gunpoint/forced to their knees/manhandled).
> 
> So, this is very experimental (blame Killing Eve for that, I binge watched the three seasons recently and couldn't get the idea of sociopathic assassin Geralt and MI6 agent Jaskier). Sorry if it's not great, but I wanted to give this universe a shot. Hope you like it xx

Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill. Geralt walked down the familiar hallway heading for apartment 32, Jaskier’s apartment. His pulse quickened at the thought of what he was about to do. _It’s the job_ , Vesemir had told him before handing him a picture of Jaskier that same morning, _that cop’s on Lambert’s trail. We need to get him out of the picture before he gets to us_. It was what the job required him to do, and Geralt was nothing if damn good at his job. He reached apartment 32 quickly and brought a fist to gently knock on the door. It did not take Jaskier long to appear in the doorway, a bright smile illuminating his face like he did not have a fucking bounty on his head. 

“Hey babe,” Jaskier greeted him, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Geralt’s lips, “you’re early, as always. Come in, I just finished baking cookies.”

Jaskier loved baking. And singing. And cheesy rom-coms. These were all things Geralt had learned about the man over the past year they had been dating. They had met in a trendy London bar. Geralt had been on a mission to gather intel on his next victim, but Jaskier’s soft brown curls and blue eyes sparkling with mischief had proved too great a distraction. Geralt had taken Jaskier home that night, in the mood for a quick one-night-stand, but Jaskier was the most intoxicating drug Geralt had ever tasted and he had become obsessed with Jaskier’s entire existence. A one-night-stand turned into casual coffee dates in between Geralt’s bounties and Jaskier’s detective work, and before Geralt could stop himself he was taking Jaskier out the movies, to expensive restaurants, on trips around the world (first class, if you please). Vesemir hated it. Of course he did. It was dangerous for an assassin to date a detective. Not _any_ detective, mind you, but one of the detectives who had been on Geralt and his brothers’ trails for months now. _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer Vesemir_ , Geralt had told the man who had taken him in and raised him like his own son. _Keeping your enemies closer does not mean you need to fuck them, Geralt,_ Vesemir had retorted. Geralt did not care. Their relationship was dangerous, but Geralt loved the thrill of it. He always got what he wanted, and right now, he wanted Jaskier more than anything in the world.

Needed Jaskier.

 _Craved_ him.

Vesemir could piss off. 

“Chocolate chip cookies?” Geralt asked as he stepped into Jaskier’s apartment.

“Rainbow cookies,” Jaskier corrected him, giggling softly when Geralt frowned at him, “I added smarties instead of choc chips, but rainbow cookies sounds miles better than smarties cookies, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, buttercup.”

Buttercup. His delicate little flower. His buttercup. Geralt bit back a dreamy sigh as he followed Jaskier into the kitchen. The counter was littered with open packaging, dirty bowls, various kitchen utensils, and was that rainbow cookie dough hanging from the ceiling? Geralt smirked, knowing just how chaotic his boyfriend could be in the kitchen. Jaskier was a man of many talents, a jack of all trades if you like, but for all his efforts he was a right mess in the kitchen. In fact, Geralt did not even think Jaskier’s creations tasted that good, but he would much rather lie to Jaskier than see his precious buttercup upset.

“I’ll be yours in just a flash, my dear, I need to call my boss. I think we had a breakthrough in that serial killer case we’re working on, isn’t that exciting?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched as he fought the urge to reach for his gun. Not yet. Not now. And if Geralt had a say in it, not _ever._ Geralt watched as Jaskier wiped his fingers on his apron before reaching for his phone which lay forgotten and covered in flour on the kitchen island. Geralt waited patiently, observing, listening. An unfamiliar feeling tugged at his heartstrings, but Geralt quickly repressed whatever it was distracting him from his goal. There was no space in his line of work for emotions to take over. Geralt needed to keep a cold head. He would mourn later. Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on him to lean against the kitchen island as he spoke to his boss.

“Hi Dijkstra, how’s it going? I’m fine yeah, why do you ask? … Just spit it out, man,” Jaskier urged his boss after a long pause during which Geralt guessed Dijkstra, the asshole who had been trailing Lambert for the past months, was fumbling nervously over his own words. “No, that… that can’t be right…”

Geralt reached for his gun but did not cock it yet. Jaskier’s back was still turned to him, but his shoulders were tense and the hand holding his phone was shaking.

“No, he’s not here. In fact, I haven’t heard from Geralt all day.” A blatant lie. “Yes Dijkstra, I promise. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.” Jaskier hug up abruptly and Geralt did not need to be a medium to know that Dijkstra did not want the conversation to end so soon. Jaskier was protecting him. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt did not deserve him. Geralt swallowed thickly and tightened his hold around the grip of his handgun before pointing the gun at Jaskier’s head and cocking it.

Jaskier tensed.

“You’re one of them. You’re one of the wolves.”

The Wolves. The name Vesemir had given to Geralt and his brothers, an alias, a code name. It was a statement rather than a question, and Jaskier spoke these words with such _hurt_ , such _betrayal_ that Geralt very nearly screamed with rage. He hated being the reason that Jaskier was upset.

 _It’s the job_.

Geralt’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“I am.”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Jaskier asked, his tone resigned, and _that_ hurt Geralt more than the thought of killing him. Geralt took a composing breath, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened even more. He did his best to hide the way his hands were shaking by taking a deep, composing breath and balling the hand at his side into a fist. Geralt had picked a handgun because it meant a quick death. By far his least favourite weapon, admittedly, but Jaskier did not deserve to suffer. A bullet through the head, and it would soon be over.

Geralt tried to convince himself that he was doing what had to be done to protect himself, to protect Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. They were family, right? Family came first, right? Only Geralt had come to see Jaskier as family too, and _fuck_ why could Vesemir not see that Jaskier was already a member of the pack?

“Turn around,” Geralt gently instructed. Jaskier only briefly hesitated to do as he was told, and when their eyes met Jaskier was staring at Geralt calmly, not a hint of fear to be found in those blue pools. Not fear, no, but something that stung all the same. Betrayal, hurt, disappointment, but also… love. Pure and unyielding despite Geralt holding a gun to Jaskier’s fucking head. Geralt smiled softly. His brave buttercup. “I don’t want to kill, you Jaskier.”

It was not a lie. Geralt had spent all day thinking of a way to get out of the contract. He knew that refusing to kill Jaskier would only encourage Vesemir to give the contract on Jaskier’s head to someone else. Vesemir might send Eskel or worse, Lambert to finish the job. Lambert could be particularly cruel, but he was always efficient. Geralt blamed that asshole Aiden for teaching Lambert how to toy with his victims and torture them before finishing them off slowly. Eskel, on the other hand, was a straight to the point, no strings attached kind of employee. He did the job quickly, professionally and without getting attached. Geralt liked to add personal touches to his jobs. He liked leaving breadcrumbs leading to nowhere to throw the cops and MI6 off their scent. Geralt loved the thrill that came with nearly getting caught. 

Geralt could not let anyone else deal with Jaskier’s bounty, but that did not mean that he could not find another way to keep Jaskier safe – from Vesemir, from his brothers, from the authorities who would arrest Jaskier for being romantically involved with an assassin. Geralt had a plan, but that would only work if Jaskier cooperated. Which he might not after finding out who Geralt was, _what_ he was.

“Geralt, you don’t have to do this.” Bargaining. A classic. People always tried to bargain their way out of being killed. “We can protect you. MI6 can protect you if you collaborate with us.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Geralt asked gently as he stepped closer to Jaskier. To Geralt’s delight, the other man did not even flinch. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower, let Geralt come close, although the latter was pointing a cocked gun at him. Geralt felt oddly proud.

“Geralt, what you’re doing is wrong. You’re _murdering_ people.”

“Guilty people,” Geralt clarified. He stopped only when his face and Jaskier’s were mere inches apart. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to Jaskier’s forehead before leaning closer to place a soft kiss on the other man’s lips. A kiss that was returned, if a little shyly. “Most of them are, at least. The innocent people I’ve killed over the years were, how to put it, collateral damage.”

“Geralt, this is not the way to go about things. Guilty people need to be charged, then imprisoned. There are _laws_ to punish guilty people, Geralt. Murder is a crime, even if you target guilty people.”

“Those laws will get guilty people in prison, but for how long? The people I kill don’t deserve justice. They never abided by the rules in place, so why should they be judged by the same rules they so readily disregarded most of their lives?”

It was only when tears gathered in his eyes that Geralt realised he had not blinked in a while. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, his eyes fluttering shut as he took in the intoxicating smell of his boyfriend’s bergamot scented shampoo. Geralt’s favourite. Jaskier leaned into him, his hand travelling up Geralt’s chest to rest warmly over his heart, perhaps to reassure himself that Geralt still had one. They stayed like this for a while, Geralt still pressing his gun to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Geralt… please. You say you kill guilty people. Then spare me. We’ll work this out, together.”

“I have a plan,” Geralt whispered, his other hand coming to rest at the back of Jaskier’s neck as he peppered his boyfriend’s neck with what he hoped were reassuring kisses. “I don’t have to kill you, my precious buttercup. I don’t _want_ to kill you. My orders were to get you out of the picture. I can do that, get you somewhere safe.”

“What? Geralt, I can’t just run away. They’ll look for me. They know who you are, they’ll hunt you down.”

“I won’t leave your side, buttercup. I’ll come with you, we can lay low for a while. We’ll go somewhere they can’t track us. A farm, how does that sound? You and me, a couple of chickens, horses, dogs,… and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me,” Geralt promised, but his words rather than soothe Jaskier seemed to rile him up even more. Jaskier suddenly pulled away, those blue eyes Geralt could happily lose himself in staring back at him uncomprehendingly like Jaskier did not recognise the man before him. Geralt was no stranger. He was still the same man as before, ready to do anything to protect and defend what was _his_.

“No! I don’t want that. Geralt, I want you to stop killing people, guilty or not, I want you to cooperate with MI6, I want you to be _safe_.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” Geralt asked, suddenly insecure, something dark and twisted stirring in him at the thought of Jaskier leaving. Jaskier could not leave. Geralt would not _allow_ it. How would he keep his boyfriend safe if Jaskier left him? His eyes sought Jaskier’s, finding none of the warmth and adoration Geralt usually saw reflected in the blue pools. Instead he found confusion, anger and most upsetting of all, the first hints of _fear_.

“I don’t love that you kill people,” Jaskier said after a brief silence, his frown deepening when Geralt’s fingers reached out to gently traced the line of his jaw, “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life, quit the job I love, leave my family and my friends behind to follow you to some yet unknown place to live on a farm. Yet, you don’t seem willing to give up your… your _job_. You expect me to accept that you kill people for a living. I certainly don’t love that about you.”

“So if I left now, you wouldn’t even be sad?” Geralt asked, willing his racing heart to calm down as he pulled Jaskier closer to him. Geralt teasingly ran the tip of his tongue along the shell of Jaskier’s ear, but the shudder his actions triggered was a result of Jaskier’s _fear_ , not lust. Geralt growled low in his chest.

“No. I wouldn’t be.”

Geralt straightened up so he could stare properly into Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier was lying. He could read his boyfriend like an open book, no matter how hard Jaskier tried to keep a straight face. It was Geralt’s job to find people’s weaknesses, and it was painfully clear that Jaskier’s weakness was Geralt. The way cornflour blue eyes avoided his honey-brown ones, the way Jaskier made no move to step away, the hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the twitching fingers itching to pull Geralt close… all these indicators pointed to it. Geralt smirked.

“Liar.”

Geralt stepped back and brought his gun to his chin, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. The way his boyfriend’s eyes widened in panic was a tell-tale sign that Geralt’s bluff was paying off. He even managed to look weepy, tears welling up in his eyes as he let out shaky breaths. Sometimes his job required Geralt to put up a show, either to manipulate or toy with his victims. Jaskier took the bait instantly.

“Geralt, no. You don’t want to do this.”

“You think I won’t kill myself?” Geralt asked, his voice hitching as he forced the tears to trail down his cheeks, “you’re mistaken, buttercup. I can’t do this anymore. I need to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, don’t do this, please don’t do this!” Jaskier all but begged, his own eyes filling with tears. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt almost felt bad. “Geralt _please_ , we’ll find a way to keep us both safe, I promise, just please… drop the gun. _Please_.”

“If you can’t come with me, I need to keep you safe some other way. Keep you safe from _me_. This is the only way.”

“GERALT, NO!”

Jaskier ran towards Geralt and reached for the gun, but Geralt was faster and moved away from his boyfriend before Jaskier had a chance to catch him. A loud, near hysterical, bark of laughter pushed past Geralt’s lips, his eyes which had been filled with tears before now full of mischief. In his haste, Jaskier had tripped and was now sprawled on his kitchen floor, looking up at Geralt in anxious anticipation. When Jaskier finally looked at him again, Geralt’s grin vanished and his features hardened into an unreadable expression.

“Don’t lie to me, buttercup,” Geralt said as he crouched next to the trembling man, his voice uncharacteristically cold considering he was talking to _Jaskier_ of all people, “you care. You _love_ me. And I love you. I want to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, you’re scaring me.”

“Hush, my sweet one,” Geralt put his gun down and cupped Jaskier’s face in his large hands, his thumbs gently wiping the rogue tears running down the pale cheeks, “none of that. I won’t hurt you. I won’t kill you. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe.”

Jaskier paused for a second, blue eyes losing themselves in honey-brown ones. Geralt smiled softly, whispering sweet nothings to Jaskier who had this tortured look on his face. Geralt vowed to make it all better, to be the best boyfriend Jaskier could ever dream of. He would never give up Jaskier, not for all the riches in the world. It might take some time for his lover to realise this, but with time Jaskier will see that all Geralt was trying to do is keep them safe and create a life for them. Eventually, Jaskier seemed to have calmed down and one hand came up to cover Geralt’s in a tender gesture. His eyes filled with tears again. Geralt hated seeing his buttercup so upset.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay Jaskier, I’m he-“

Geralt did not get a chance to finish his sentence that Jaskier had picked up the gun and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Geralt’s thigh and taking him by surprise long enough for Jaskier to scramble to his feet and race for the door. Geralt roared in pain, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to pull himself up using the kitchen aisle as leverage. Jaskier had taken the gun with him. When Geralt was on his feet, Jaskier was already gone. There was no use in trying to pursue him, not when he was injured, but Geralt was not overly worried.

He would find Jaskier one way or another.

His precious buttercup, who was obviously not such a delicate flower after all.


End file.
